


Off To The Races

by RobbieTurner



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, M/M, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobbieTurner/pseuds/RobbieTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every army needs its Soldier's Bride. Armin volunteers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off To The Races

**  
**

 

Armin remembers the first spider that ate the first fly. That cruel simplicity they keep defying.

It’s a dog eats dog world. He makes a good bitch.

-//-

It becomes a ritual: before every mission they try to cherish life or quiet down the noise of death in their heads. These boys he grew up with. Some pray. Some fuck. There’s little time to be children and even less to be men. As he spreads his legs, Armin takes his place in the most ancient of the food chains.

It happens effortlessly. They like him because he’s pretty and soft like a girl. It sounds like the most natural choice, that one slower rabbit made meat for wolves. They can’t all afford to jump fast enough.

 

-//-

Reiner goes first.

Armin is lost here, tiny boy that has never learned from books what he’s good for. And yet he can tell that Reiner’s hands are gentle as they can be. They cover his chest easily and open his shirt. Armin arches when rough fingers mark his skin, and there’s a sigh coming out of his lips. It sounds like a calling, and the other boys get closer, more interested, the small pack of them. There’s Marco, eyes and mouth open wide, there’s Jean annoyed and aroused, there’s Thomas, there’s Berthold, there’s Connie, all the boys whose fate is to die young so, really, that’s the least he can do.

“Relax. It will hurt less.” Reiner says to him, and Armin bits his lower lip. He tries to obey. He keeps trying as poorly-lubed fingers enter him for the first time, stretching his hole for a whole lot more than those few inches that already feel like too much. He moans faintly. There’s a spark of pleasure when something deep inside him is touched, but it slips away fast. They pause. Armin gets on his hands and knees, strangely proud of himself for dealing so gracefully with the technicalities of sex. He feels cold with a passive, welcomed fear. This, Armin realizes, has been known to him all his life.

He is fucked for the very first time. It feels like home.

 

-//-

Word gets around.

They are having breakfast. Lots of boys now look at him in silent consideration.  He wonders how Eren will react. Anger and indignation are expected, but perhaps Eren will congratulate him for being a good soldier, for doing what others won’t. Perhaps he will want a turn too. The thought makes Armin sick with arousal and disgust.

Eren sits in front of him. They share the silence for a moment and then begin to talk. Not a word about the subject is spoken.

 

-//-

Boys fall dead like flies, wings cut in half. 

Inside the titans, they fill whole graveyards.  

With such a short life span, it is inevitable the reschedule of Armin’s use. They approach him that night, the maimed pack of hunted wolves, bleeding where Marco and Thomas were. It would be therapeutic, cathartic even, to fuck him hard and deep, bury there all the pains of these last days. 

He thinks about Eren, the giant beast he was, the prisoner he is.  And the war carries on here, at the home-front, between the pretty, milky thighs of this soldier’s bride.

Connie, who starts it this time, is tender, almost shy. He acts like the _Chevalier_ he was out there, carrying Armin in his arms. “You are really pretty.” Connie tells him. Armin doesn’t feel pretty, he feels useful, which is much better. His back against stone wall, Connie between his knees, just as strong as he was that afternoon. Sometimes their eyes meet. “Here?” Connie asks, breaking an unwritten rule. “Yes,” Armin moans. This is not about his pleasure, but he takes it when it’s given to him. “Yes, please, Connie.” _Here_ the world can be so beautiful, in the addictive thrust-in-thrust-out, _oh_ , he likes them rough and never thought, never imagined, that he was born to be a whore.

He comes, as does Connie. He lies down on the floor and spread his legs for the next.

When they’re done, Jean is still standing there, still unsullied. Armin is on the floor trembling lightly and panting.  There’s something warm about how his body aches, something lovely about his pain. He’s like a favourite doll, played with a lot today. Armin first thinks it’s repulsion he sees in Jean’s face. He should be able to identify it by now.

“Turn over.”

Jean orders, pleading, and fucks him, withering sobs on his blonde hair. Armin hears him calling Marco’s name at some point.

Later the world is a little less beautiful, fading, drying out like the blood on the streets.

 

-//-

Eren is released from prison and taken into custody by the Survey Corps. Armin and Mikasa reunite with him and the three of them are different people than before, another brand of heroes. There’s no mythology to describe, no history to anticipate them. And maybe that’s what hope feels like.

-//-

“I don’t want you doing that anymore.”

Eren says, firmly. They are sharing the bed like they always used to. Armin opens his eyes and turns to face him. He’s so very warm and Armin remembers vaguely that they’re still fifteen, only fifteen.

“Everyone is doing their part for the sake of Humanity. That’s what-” _what I do best, even more than scheming strategies._ “-I can do.”

Unconvinced, Eren looks at him. _And I would do it for you too; I would offer you the frivolous entertainments of my body._

“You are useful for other reasons. You are so smart, Armin.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I want to give it all that I can give. And if that includes my body, then so be it.”

He hushes. Oh, Armin realizes, this is where he is Eren’s senior. How foolish of him, taking so long to notice. Eren is a virgin.

“Have you ever seen it?” Armin asks, voice calm, and then adds, with a hint of something unknown to his childhood friend: “The way I doit?”

Eren blushes, his voice rising. “No! Of course not! I wouldn’t watchsomething like that!”

“I’m good at it,” Armin continues, languid, shifting a little. Let them feast on the same sins. There is still so much to _give_ and they may be dead next month. “I could show you…” he gets closer to Eren, and touches him lightly on the cheek. Eren shuns away like he is being burn.

“Let’s just sleep!” He finishes their little _tetê-a-tetê,_ and turns his back to Armin, leaving him to disobedience, to lay awake for a while, fantasying about the imaginary caresses of the sea.   

-//-

Outside, they let rot the fallen.

Armin had that intimate encounter with his own fragility for the second time in his life. He looked at the Female Titan, at her big, cold, glass eyes, and felt dread and arousal and submission. They’re playing with gods. Or, more accurately, the gods are playing with them.

Eren is right; he is smart. Just as good a strategist as he is a courtesan, Armin draws the plan that will entrap Annie. And it is funny, in the end of the day, how their insignificant success still tastes like death in their mouths. He grew too ambitious for these walls, maybe he always was. Not a plaything for gods anymore.

He feels victorious at last when, that night, Commander Erwin himself requests his services. And it’s different to have a man where he only had boys. His Commander is thick, merciless skilled, has Armin on his lap, and looks at him the entire time. Armin moans with every precise move, squirming under his gaze, and sees in those eyes something he recognizes in himself.

-//-

He became a General, he became vile. He is good at this, at destruction and fellatio. They make the world crumble. And he is cured of all the fake sweetness from his old life. He killed a person for the first time, and was rewarded by Levi; his mouth is full of cum and now he can sleep.

-//-

Sometimes, after their _coup d’état_ , Eren looks at him longingly, and almost touches the blonde hair that Armin is letting grow freely. They weaponized their childhood dreams and now are finally adults; inside their minds, the cliché and inevitable remark: at what cost? He has love stories from his infancy half forgotten, fairy tales burned and drowned. His books stayed behind, with titans that cannot read them. But they’re returning one day.

The distance grows between Eren and him; the few inches between his hand and Armin’s hair seem like miles now. They’re here, and they’re alive, and Armin gets fucked almost every night and wishes, how he wishes, that Eren would understand that some flowers change their colours when stained by blood. And some always wore so well this harlot red.

-//-

Armin arches his back, faint morning light making him fair and innocent. He presses a goodbye kiss on the cheek of the sleeping, nameless soldier. Today Humanity will show its fangs again. And Armin smiles, because they will take back Wall Maria, the waste that once was Shingashima, the trees, the water, the sky, the freedom, the sea, the future. 

Before they go, he cuts a lock of blonde hair out of his head, folds it inside the breast pocket of Eren’s uniform.

 

(And perhaps one day he will see the ocean, but he will never again learn how to make love.)

 

_Finite_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey. I hope you enjoy it. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Thank you for reading.


End file.
